


How to Not-Actually Come Out (Because Maybe You're More Obvious Than You Think)

by snarky_saxophonist



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Get Together, M/M, Written for Patater week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 14:09:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9610844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarky_saxophonist/pseuds/snarky_saxophonist
Summary: Alternatively, where Kent Parson worries, tries to be a good friend, and ends up with a boyfriend.





	

“Jack, what’s up?” Kent asked, answering his phone as he was packing up the last of his gear in the visitors’ locker room in Boston. “Everything okay?”

“Tater got hurt tonight,” Jack blurted out, sounding stressed. “I know you two are close, and he’s upset, and you’re in Boston, so would you maybe come down here? He won’t let any of us in, maybe he’d let you in.”

“Hurt how?” Kent demanded, waving off the concerned look from Swoops.

“He sprained his ankle,” Jack told him. “He’s going to be fine, but he’s out at least until playoffs, and it’s just that he keeps yelling at me and the other guys to fuck off when we knock and we’re worried about him. He wouldn’t even let Bitty in with a pie.”

“Damn,” Kent swore. “We’re not flying out until later tomorrow, so I’ll drive down as soon as I can get out of here. I don’t know why he would necessarily let me in, though.”

Jack exhaled shakily. “I think he’s upset about playoffs, and you’re not connected to the Falconers, I guess? It’s worth a shot. I really appreciate it.”

“I’ll probably be there in like an hour,” Kent said, “See you shortly.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, then hung up.

Kent took a deep breath and lowered his phone. It had been a tough game in Boston, and his entire body was aching thanks to a rough check from Chara, but he wasn’t seriously hurt. Mashkov, on the other hand, if he was refusing an Eric Bittle pie, had to be very hurt and upset, and Kent was damned if he would let his friend (and definitely not secret crush) suffer alone.

“Is everything okay, Kent?” Swoops asked him. “Who was that on the phone?”

“Mashkov’s hurt, and Zimmermann asked if I would go down and help him out cause he’s upset about it,” Kent explained, tossing his phone charger into his bag and shouldering it.

“How are you getting down there?” Swoops asked, not questioning Kent’s desire drive almost an hour to visit a hurt friend, even after playing a grueling game himself, which Kent was incredibly grateful for.

“I was just gonna rent a car, then drive back up in the morning to fly out with the rest of you,” Kent said, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Alright, go,” Swoops said, noting how antsy his captain was. “I’ll let everyone know, don’t worry about it. Go take care of your boy.”

“He’s not my boy, just my friend,” Kent flushed, already halfway out of the room.

“Uh huh,” Swoops said knowingly, shaking his head. “Go!”

 

Twenty minutes later, Kent had managed to procure himself a rental car and was definitely not speeding significantly as he drive down to Providence. When he’d visited Jack’s apartment during a break earlier in the season to try to smooth things over with him, and hopefully restore some type of friendship, he hadn’t anticipated making friends with several of Jack’s teammates as well. Bittle didn’t seem to like him much at first, but Kent had accepted that probably nobody would love their boyfriend’s ex to start out with, especially when that relationship had been as much of a mess as his and Jack’s had been. Kent had eventually managed to win Bitty over, probably in large part due to their shared love of Beyonce and Kent actually apologizing to Jack. 

Mashkov, however, had been a different story. He’d been hanging out in Jack’s apartment with Jack and Bitty when Kent had dropped by, and the two had immediately clicked. They couldn’t be more different, but Mashkov laughed heartily at Kent’s sarcasm and shitty jokes every time, and Kent had soon developed a massive crush on the (undoubtedly straight) Russian player. Still, Kent’s infatuation didn’t mean they couldn’t be friends, and Kent was more than willing to be there for Tater now.

Haphazardly parking outside Tater’s apartment building and sprinting up four flights of stairs before admitting to himself that taking the elevator up the remaining eighteen flights would be better, Kent finally arrived at Mashkov’s door, where Jack was sitting and talking quietly through the door.

“Hey,” Jack greeted him when Kent slid to a stop in front of him. Jack had a fantastic black eye and looked exhausted, but he slowly got to his feet and smiled wearily at Kent. “Thanks for coming out here.”

“Yeah, of course,” Kent replied, looking Jack over with concern. “Are you alright? You look like a piece of shit.”

“Thanks so much,” Jack rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, nice to see you too.”

“Don’t think I didn’t miss that wince as you stood up,” Kent scolded him, moving around Jack to bang on Tater’s door, figuring he’d start by appealing to Tater’s protectiveness of his teammates. “Tater! How’d Jack get hurt?”

“Zimmboni is hurt?” Tater’s voice came from the other side of the door, along with a heavy thunking sound. “Why you not saying that, Zimmboni?”

The door swung open as Jack glowered at Kent, who grinned sheepishly.

“Hey, Tater,” Kent greeted him, wincing sympathetically at the boot on Mashkov’s leg and crutches. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine,” Tater snapped. “Zimmboni, what happen to you? When I leave your face normal, you get into fight?”

“Um, maybe?” Jack said sheepishly. “That was a fucking dirty hit from Lucic, we weren’t just going to let it go.”

“Shouldn’t have, Zimmboni. You not good fighter, Lucic make pancake out of you,” Tater said, looking exasperated. 

“He kinda did at first, yeah,” Jack admitted. “I have a couple of bruised ribs, too, but I beat him in the end.”

“You should be home with ice and tiny boyfriend, not here,” Tater scolded. “Team need you for playoffs, go rest.”

“I wanted to make sure you were alright first,” Jack defended. Tater lifted an eyebrow, giving him a flat look. “Alright, alright, I’m going home. But please let Kent in and help you?”

“Fine, I’m let little rat bother me if make you feel better,” Tater huffed dramatically. “Go home now.”

“I’m going!” Jack said, heading towards the elevator. “Thanks, Kent!”

 

Once the elevator had closed on Jack, Tater turned to look down at Kent. “You coming as favor to Zimmboni?”

“No,” Kent replied. “I mean, he asked me to come, but I want to be here for you. It sucks to get hurt so close to playoffs, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Tater said. He eyed Kent suspiciously, but hobbled back to allow Kent in. “You play in Boston tonight, yes? How was game?”

“We won in OT,” Kent said, following Tater to his living room. “Zdeno Chara and my body are not friends, but other than that, it was a decent game.”

“Chara hurt you?” The Russian asked, looking angry and still somehow threatening as he settled onto the couch, propping his injured leg up on a mound of pillows on the coffee table.

“Just a rough check, I’ll be alright. What did Lucic do to you?” Kent sat on the couch next to Tater, mindful to avoid jostling his leg.

“Hit me into boards at bad angle, my leg get caught and ankle sprain. I’m not playing for four weeks, miss first round of playoffs if Falconers make it,” Alexei said, his murderous look increasing.

“Then you can help them win in the second round,” Kent said easily. “The Falcs are good, they’ll make it okay and then when you come back, they’ll have that much of a boost to help them push through the rest of the playoffs.”

“You not want Aces to win?” Tater asked skeptically.

“Well, duh. But if I had to pick another team to win it, it would be you guys. You can lose to us in the Cup finals, that’d be fine.”

“Little rat, we would beating you in Cup finals,” Tater chirped back immediately. 

“Unlikely,” Kent narrowed his eyes and glared playfully at Tater. “Look, about the ‘little rat’ nickname, are you still upset about that? I know you hate my playing style, but I wouldn’t intentionally try to hurt your goalie like that.”

“No, I’m not still upset,” Tater said. “I’m know you better now, I’m know you are good person and not try to hurt for no reason. I’m not like your playing very much because it very much like mine, and I’m not want anybody to hurt my teammates.”

“That game was admittedly not one of my nicest,” Kent conceded. “I hate playing against Jack, especially with everything that’s happened between us since we played together, and I was too aggressive during that game.”

“You and Jack used to date, yes?” Tater asked conversationally, and Kent felt like he’d been checked hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He hadn’t come out to any hockey players except Jack, and he didn’t think Jack would have outed him to anybody, but apparently he’d been wrong to trust Jack that much. “I’m sorry, you okay?” Tater asked, looking concerned. “I’m not think that would offend, but I’m sorry if did.”

“No, no, you’re okay,” Kent managed, reminding himself to breathe. Tater was obviously fine with Jack and Bitty dating, and he hadn’t sounded upset or accusatory when asking Kent. “You just…surprised me. I didn’t think anybody knew about that.”

“Jack not say, but I’m seeing looks you give him sometimes. You still like him?” 

“No, we’re just friends now. He and Bitty are happy, and I’m happy for them. Besides, I have my eye on somebody else now,” Kent admitted, flushing slightly. “You don’t mind?”

“Mind? That you liking men? I’m would be… What is word? For be one thing but dislike when others be same thing?” Tater frowned.

“Hypocrite?” Kent suggested, his heart rate picking up at the implication.

“Yes! Hypocrite. Yes. I’m like Jack, I’m bisexual, so if I’m not liking you liking men, I’m having to not like me too.”

“You’re bisexual? I didn’t… I thought you were straight,” Kent said, certain that his cheeks were crimson at this point.

“You thinking lots about whether I’m liking men?” Tater asked, smirking slightly.

“Maybe,” Kent muttered, half waiting for Alexei’s disgust and orders to get out of his apartment.

“Good, because I’m thinking lots about you too,” Tater said, leaning closer to Kent. “Is okay if I’m kiss you now?”

“Yes,” Kent whispered, leaning forward to gently press his lips to Alexei’s. Alexei kissed the opposite of how he plays hockey, soft and gentle and tender, and Kent could feel his heart melt.

“Want to be boyfriend,” Tater whispered into Kent’s lips. “Is something you wanting also?”

“Yes,” Kent replied, kissing Alexei again, more forcefully this time. “Absolutely, yes.”


End file.
